


Helping Him Help Himself

by AndaisQ (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Gen, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, parental neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/AndaisQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Lalonde has been friends with Gamzee Makara since they were adorable grubs, but as they grew up his Lusus was gone more and more. She sees him going into a downward spiral, becoming addicted to sopor, allowing it to dull his senses and his rage. Finally, at the age of four sweeps, she decides that this can go on no longer and resolves to take him in. She'll get him off the slime, restore him to health, and get him back on track killing lowblood scum; in short, she will be the Best Moirail Ever and no one will be able to stop her, not even Tigermom!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Him Help Himself

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Topsy Turvy Back To Front The Right Way Round](https://archiveofourown.org/works/260674) by [biichama (biichan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biichan/pseuds/biichama), [inverts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverts/pseuds/inverts), [renachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renachan/pseuds/renachan), [roachpatrol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roachpatrol/pseuds/roachpatrol). 



Rose entered her manor hive, dragging Gamzee Makara by the hand. She spoke haltingly in a dialect unfamiliar to her, for his benefit. “Ya worries too damn much. I'm tellin' yas, yer gonna be fine. Tigermom don't maul my friends. Yer just gonna be stayin' a coupla days, then-” She suddenly stopped talking.  


A large white-and-purple striped tiger sat in the main atrium, looking imperious and stern. Rose squeaked and attempted to hide her terrified friend with her own (rather smaller) body, which proved ultimately to be futile. She grinned nervously, sharp white teeth exposed for a bare moment. She wasn't supposed to be here until almost dawn! _How is she back so soon?_  


“Greetings, O Lusus Naturae! How- er, how comest thou hiveward at so early an hour of night?”  


Her lusus' eyes narrowed as a growl bubbled up from the back of her throat, and the unfamiliar male whimpered.  


Rose cringed; she had been hoping to put off this particular confrontation until later. Tigermom was loving, but she had been known on occasion to over-react; and Gamzee, though a good and faithful friend, was honestly a bit of a sissy most of the time. She curtsied somewhat excessively to lessen whatever anger she might invite with her request, her eyes on the floor, and resisted the nervous impulse to pinch at the tips of her horns. Gamzee did nothing. She hissed under her breath, “Kneel, highblood, for my guardian is unforgiving of faux pas.”  


He did not respond, looking somewhat like a beast transfixed by an especially potent psychic. _Or perhaps,_ she thought as she glanced over at him, _by a rock to the forehead._ She pushed him forward, surreptitiously kicking at the back of his knees until he got the hint and kowtowed. He didn't seem to want to get up after he had assumed the position, so she left him.  


“Roxane, lusus mine? I beseech thy consent to lodge a wayward companion.”  


A growl rumbled from the back of the stripebeast's throat as she looked down at her charge's little friend, who was paralyzed by fear.  


Rose crouched and jabbed him sharply in the side with her needles. “Stand thou with courage, craven. My guardian tigress shall not harm thee shouldst thou give her no provoking; thy cowering doth affront my hospitality and hers.” He looked extremely confused. She allowed her hand to rest briefly in between her eyes without smearing her meticulously applied paint, then translated, “The great scary meowbeast won't snuff yas if ya don't hack 'er off. Quit bein' such a pansy, yer insultin' us. F'godsake, someone'd think ya was a mustard.”  


He straightened his posture slowly and cautiously, still not daring to look the feline in the eyes. (That was probably a good idea in any case, since she would probably view it as a direct challenge. She could overlook the inherent cowardice for now.) “Uh, hI MiZ RoSe'S LuSuS. I WaS GoNnA AsK If i cOuLd sTaY HeRe a cOuPlEa dAyS, CaUsE SeAgOaTdAd'S BeEn aWaY A CoUpLe pErIgEeS AnD I RaN OuT Of fOoD. AnD SoPoR.” He unconsciously shifted his weight from foot to foot. Like a Mirth-bedamned wriggler caught filching grub tarts. Ugh.  


The beast arched an invisible eyebrow. (As far as Rose knew meowbeasts didn't even have eyebrows, just ridges of bone on the skull where they might go on a creature without fur. But an eyebrow was raised, that much was clear.) She directed a pointed look at the unfamiliar boy's tattered clothing, once fine and colorful but now sad, dull rags that didn't quite fit him. Her magenta eyes lingered on the indigo scrapes and cuts covering his limbs (he was clumsy at the best of times, and his constant state of intoxication was anything but good for the reflexes) as though doubting the truth of their color.  


She licked off some of the purple crust (he froze at the contact, overbalanced, and almost crashed to the ground before catching himself with much windmilling) and reared back, spitting and hissing. She snarled a message to Rose in their filial dialect. *this boy consumes sopurr!*  


Rose nodded sadly. It was tragic, she knew; sober he was truly inspired, but poisoned like this it seemed like he hardly had a brain at all.  


*such exquisitely purr blood, full of such horrible toxins...* The stripebeast paced back and forth, agitated, occasionally circling a statue a few times before moving on. *mew say that his lusus is a sea-goat? how is he so imprrudent as to allow his charge to poison himself so?*  


“Indeed. He is of Visgeit stock, a billy of most dignified breed and color, by the name Capricornus. But oft doth he vanish far beyond the horizon, wandering the sea for sometime near three perigees.”  


Roxane snarled in rage at the betrayal of the _philosophia Lusae_. The Lusus, Rose knew, was to consider the well-being of their protégé to be far above their own. * fickle caprrine scum. i have long known that the bovid are untrustworthy, but to have it confirmed in this manner sickens me.*  


“Indeed. In past absences I had supplied him with food and similar such necessaries, but he hath consumed the whole of the sopor with which I did fill his cocoon and I suspect he would fain do the same to any further dispensations coming to him.” Her lusus motioned with one paw for her to be silent and resumed her pacing. She sat on a conveniently located ornamental bench to wait. She felt her claws rising to her curved horns to pluck, and stilled them, folding them in her lap.  


Finally the sat back regally on her haunches. Rose felt the flickering of hope at her expression, which seemed fractionally kinder than usual. (Though that was probably her imagination.) *i have decided that your friend's plight merits our aid. commewnicate to him that we will take him in, and that he is purrfectly welcome to our hospitality whenever his lusus is not prresent as long as he does not purrtake in his self-abuses in our hive. we may yet be able to lead him to epiphany, and we must strive to purrtect our compatriots from their own weak wills if anything may be done.*  


Rose beamed uncharacteristically, ivory fangs shining in the low light, and very nearly wanted to hug the vast meowbeast. She refrained, instead bowing deeply with the smile still on her face.  


“I thank thee, O Roxane, for thy most gracious and just decision. I shall gift thee gratefully with an abundance of fish posthaste.” Her lusus inclined her head and smirked. (Not that she ever really wasn't smirking; the facial range of a feline was not extensive.)  


She turned to the spot where the boy had been standing a moment before. Then she turned some more and found him cowering behind a statue of the Puppet. Her palm graced her forehead once more. But her enthusiasm outweighed her exasperation after a moment.  


She called to him brightly, “Exult thou, dearest buffoon! I have managed to procure the acquiescence of my grimalkin in the matter of thy habitation; thou mayst reside in our humble abode when the disappearance of thy caprine caretaker doth render thine own inhospitable, providing thou dost not abuse the mind-numbing poison of which thou art so fond. O, exultation!”  


She grabbed him by one long-fingered hand and attempted to pull him out of his hiding place, but he stubbornly refused to cooperate.  


“RoSe, tHaT SoUnDs rEaL GrEaT, BuT I DoN't hAvE AnY ClUe WhAt aLl yOu jUsT SaId.”  


She gritted her teeth. “Tigermom said ya can stay when the goat's outta town if ya aren't off playin' with the green fairies all the time. We'll give yas one'a the spare rooms 'cause we never use 'em.” Gamzee recoiled, wide-eyed. “Ah, f'godsake, what is it now, ya bum? Sweartagod, yer the pickiest little creature...”  


“i-i-i cAn’T, NoT, I, CaN’t, bE WiThOuT It tHaT LoNg, iT’d-”  


She decided to test him a bit, speaking slowly and with clear diction. “Dear friend, we seek only to aid in thy rehabilitation. Can there be no tiny part in thee that can comprehend mine intricate syntax? I have explained mine elocution to thee many a time. Search thou within thy corrupted thinkpan: be there not the smallest understanding?”  


She saw his face twist, then he shook his head violently. “nO, No, nO, I CaN’t hEaR ThE WoRdS, It’S AlL ToO FoGgY! LeAvE Me aLoNe, i dOn’T WaNnA HeAr iT, If i cAn unDeRsTaNd tHeSe wOrDs i uNdErStAnD ThOsE WoRdS, BaD StUfF HaPpEnS WhEn i uNdErStAnD ThOsE WoRdS, I DoN't wAnT ThE BaD StUfF!”  


She pressed on valiantly as he fell to his knees. “Look thou ‘pon this wretched face; it doth pine for thee! Thee, as thou art uncorrupt; thee, as thou art whole; thee, as thou art when thou canst THINK, when thou canst SPEAK!” She was becoming more passionate than she had planned.  


He shook, curling into a ball on the floor. “No, nO, No, nO...”  


She raged against him, eyes burning and voice shaking with emotion. “Thy most elegant poetry, thy vividest art, thy golden voice: all this hath been thine when thou brokest out of this sugary cage thou hast built for thyself! Thy voice doth crack, thy mind doth blur, and thy heart doth break in a vise of lies thou tellest thyself each time thou partakest in that green filth!”  


She grabbed his face, greasepaint smearing under her fingertips, and pulled it up to face her, pleading to him with eyes dripping icy lilac tears. “I beseech thee. Cease thy campaign ‘gainst thyself. Let thy spirit free of its viridian gaol for but a tenday, and we shall see how thou farest.”  


He moaned, the sound full of grief, and closed his eyes tight. Rose let him collapse to the ground and, heedless of manners for once, hunched in on herself to pinch at her horns with razor-sharp claws. She kept at it even as golden flakes began to peel away, taking a sort of perverse satisfaction in the dull icy pain throbbing in the almost-bone prongs.  


But inch by inch, moment by moment, his keening quieted and his tormented expression changed to determination. Finally, after a few minutes, he was silent, his face still and relatively calm. "JuSt tEn dAyS? YoU PrOmIsE?"  


She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her hands stilled.  


“AlRiGhT. AlRiGhT, I CaN Do tHiS. I CaN Go wItHoUt. jUsT FoR TeN DaYs.”  


He smiled hesitantly, trying to convince himself. “iT MiGhT HeLp mE OuT, HoNeStLy. i mEaN...ThAt sTuFf cAn’T Be gOoD FoR YoUr tHiNkPaN. AnYtHiNg sTrOnG EnOuGh tO StOp tHe nIgHt tErRoRs jUsT ToUcHiNg yOuR SkIn hAs tO Be pReTtY CrAzY, YoU KnOw?”  


Rose abruptly clutched him tightly to her chest. (He froze at the contact, then relaxed slowly.) She whispered, “I shall help thee with thy trial. Each day I shall ask thee again how thou farest. I'll help thee with thy painted mask, and thou with mine. We can paint pictures together.”  


She seemed to reconsider. “Though perhaps not in my favored media, at least at first. Thou shalt recover a bit at a time. ‘Grubby steps’, as Egbert might say.” Gamzee laughed quietly at her making light of her violent pastime, which she found encouraging. Then he let go of the embrace and looked around, puzzled.  


“WaIt a sEcOnD. WhErE’s yOuR LuSuS?”  


Her eyelids snapped open. She scanned the room in a panic. Not seeing the feline, her face froze in dread and she swore under her breath. (She fought the urge to clap a hand over her mouth in the name of propriety; there was little time.) “Gamzee, when the great cat doth return, cringe not from her offering. It will offend her deeply if thou refuse, and thou needst not eat much of it. It is but her custom.”  


He looked somewhat frightened by her vague warning, but before she could explain any further the door opened and her custodian pushed her way in carrying a slain barkbeast in her jaws. (It was a very large and fierce-looking example of the breed, and Rose felt grudgingly impressed that it had been slaughtered in the span of so short a breakdown, despite the inconvenience of its arrival.) She padded across the room with the brown-dripping corpse, then laid it at Gamzee’s feet. He stared at it in obvious horror.  


She turned to Rose and spoke in a string of mews and purrs which she still managed to make sardonic. *inform your friend that he obviously does not consume enough prrovender which does not purrvide some manner of intoxication. this creature is for him. i shall not depart until its skeleton is picked clean.*  


The girl quickly relayed this missive to the troll in question (who was admittedly somewhat emaciated), but quickly turned back to her lusus to argue the point. “Roxane, while thy concern is noted and well taken, Gamzee keeps solely herbivorous sustenance. I believe him physically incapable, in fact, of the consumption of such a great beast, and from what I understand it may cause him terrible nausea. I plead thee, let him eat but a portion. We shall increase his tolerance anon.”  


Roxane curled her lips back from white teeth and black gums. *this reeks of trickery and excuses made to purrtect your friend from a petty distaste. i have never heard of any troll spurrning meat in this way. he shall eat, and eat heartily. end of discussion.* She nosed it towards him insistently.  


The girl gritted her teeth. “Yes, dear grimalkin, 'tis most strange, but the fact remains that he is unaccustomed to the consumption of flesh. He'll not be able to stomach more than a bite of this-” (she pointed one claw at the carcass steaming on the black floor) “-assuredly delicious beast. As I say, we shall work on it. I petition thee, be thou _kind_ enough to leave me the repair of my intimate's _psyche!_ ” By this point she was shouting.  


She clenched her hands into fists and breathed heavily in and out. The valves of her auricular sponge clots pounded and her hornbeds cooled and gathered frost as blood rushed to them. She kept her hands with difficulty from retrieving the carved and bleached horn needlewands in her specibus. She was furious, and she didn't know why, but she would protect him and help him her way, dammit.  


The meowbeast stared at her in apparent shock. Then realization dawned in her eyes and she let out a purr that Rose recognized dimly as her laugh, and a genuine one at that, though it was somewhat unfamiliar to her ear from its disuse. *oh, that's prriceless. well, there's nothing i can do about it meow. congrratulations, rose. mew win this round.*  


Rose looked at her, dumbfounded by her surrender and sudden change in mood. The pounding ebbed slowly from her auricular valves. “What? Hast thou drunk of the vishäst? I have told thee many a time that the intoxication from seahorse-”  


She held up her paws facetiously. *no, this is to be taken one-hundred-purrcent at face value. seriously. do whatever mew want. i know well enough not to get between meowrails or matesprrits or whatever quadrant with which mew have entangled yourself. have fun!* She winked and sauntered leisurely out of the room, leaving her ward with her mouth hanging open.  


The two remaining residents of the room stood quietly, Rose in shock, Gamzee working on mentally translating the archaic speech (made no easier by the dialectic purrs).  


Finally he broke the silence. He turned to her, looking bewildered. “So wAiT...ShE WaNtS Us tO PaIl?”  


She flushed elderberry. "What?! I- We- Thou-" She gaped at him, unable to properly speak.  


"'cAuSe iT SoUnDs kInDa lIkE ShE WaNtS Us tO PaIl."  


She shook her head, dispelling her embarrassment.  


“Our priority, I believe, will needs must be focused in thy tact. Or, for precision's sake, the complete lack thereof.”  


“wElL, WhAt'S GoInG On tHeN?”  


This was going to be hard work. But her mother was right, to a point. He was very pitiful; she'd just seen the wrong quadrant.  


She was seeing diamonds floating in the air. She felt like some character in a romance novel, finding her destined moirail and crooning to herself about how her newfound romance was pale as a bleached pearl.  


She grinned, teeth flashing in the dark.  


_Let's get to work._

**Author's Note:**

> For a bit of background on things that I am absolutely certain everyone cares about always, Rose follows a sect of the Cult of the Mirthful which reveres more classical harlequin-y clowns as opposed to the ICP/Juggalo types that the mainstream followers go for. This is the source of her Shakespearean stylings. They still wear facepaint: her style is the comedy/tragedy mask, divided with tragedy on the right and comedy on the left. She painstakingly re-applies it every morning, using paint she makes herself out of materials you might not want to hear about.


End file.
